Draken wished for a bitter ale rather than wine; better to complement the conversation. “I wasn’t aware anyone in Akrasia knew much about them.”
Oklai tipped her head. “It’s a well-known trait, one I have witnessed myself.”
Draken clenched his fist under the table. “By all accounts Monoeans are intelligent and well-educated.”
“And cruel,” Elena said. “The world over knows the cliffs of Sevenfel are filled with the skulls of our people.”
Mostly Brînian skulls. “That was a long time ago, my Queen.”
“You sound as if you are defending them,” Elena said.
There. Oklai’s smirk again.
“I am a military man. I’ve got a healthy respect for their capability. That is all.”
“Prince Draken thinks we could not face Monoea in war and win,” Elena said. “I’m curious about your thoughts, Lady Oklai?”
Oklai’s bark-colored eyes locked on Draken. “I think he is correct. A war with such a formidable enemy would surely devastate Akrasia. We should do all we can to prevent it. And as you say, Your Majesty, he has matters of concern at home.”
“What possible reason could they have for invading? They don’t need anything from us that they haven’t achieved with trade treaties,” Elena said. Not a question she sounded as if she wanted an answer to.
“There is something we have that they don’t.” Draken held Oklai’s gaze.
“Which is?” Elena said. She looked reached out and selected a piece of fruit so she missed the tightening around Oklai’s mouth, the subtle stiffening of her back.
“Slaves?” Oklai said, her eyes narrowing. Draken’s jaw clenched.
“That makes no sense,” Elena said, impatient. “Why would they want our slaves?”
“They wouldn’t. I’m speaking of magic.” Draken leaned forward, his forearm on the table, feigning relaxation. Two could play the threat game, damn her. Times like these he missed Bruche. He’d have an idea how to get the better of the Moonling. “I wonder how much they really know about our magic. It might be intriguing to find out.”
“Your enemies can learn much from the questions you ask,” Elena said. “Something my father repeated often.”
“Just as we learn from the suggestions enemies make,” Draken said.
“The races keep to themselves overmuch,” Elena said. “I’ve little doubt they all have magic which could be put to good use to benefit Akrasia.”
“Or to benefit themselves,” Draken said. “Which seems to be the way of it.”
Oklai rose. “Moonlings have only simple elemental magic. I wouldn’t know much about others’ magic nor Monoean reasons for wanting it. I will leave such things to Prince Draken to discover. Your Majesty, thank you for seeing me.”
Draken watched their farewells, thinking the Abeyance was anything but simple. When she and her guards were gone, he reached for his cup. The wine tasted sour on his tongue. Were there fresher bloodstains on their spears? Difficult to say in lantern-light.
“Odd little creature, isn’t she?” Elena said.
“Not so odd. Dangerous,” Draken muttered.
“Draken. She is just thinking of her people. We don’t have to suspect everyone has any more of an agenda than that, not without proof.”
“‘Every agenda wears a mask of courtesy.’ That’s from a Monoean King.”
She raised her brows at him, but smiled. His heart, taxed from the icy grip of the gods and anxiety from Oklai’s presence, lurched. He lowered his voice so the slaves and guards at the perimeter of the room would not overhear. “I think I offended you before. I am sorry, Elena. I would have things be easy between us.”
White teeth emerged to catch her bottom lip. “My frustration is not your fault.”
He lifted her hand and kissed it.
She ran her thumb over his knuckles and lowered her hand, still holding his, to her lap. “Things seem tense between you and Lady Oklai.”
“Aye, they are. Oklai came to me asking for help freeing her people from slavery. I could have handled it better.”
“What did you tell her?”
“I said Va Khlar advised against it for economic reasons. That it was too soon. And that I would speak to you when the time was right.”
“Which is now?”
“The timing’s been bad all round. I was fresh from the battle when she asked for an audience. And … you asked.”
“I was merely curious.”
“I realize I have little more than a hunch to go on, but please, Elena. Do not trust the Moonlings. Do not allow them near you. Stay within the locked gates of the Citadel.”
She lowered her gaze for long breaths. “Oklai offered me protection at Skyhaven in case the Monoeans attacked Akrasia.”
He hated frightening her. He hated leaving her worse. “We don’t need it. I have some ideas on your protection.” He explained about the meeting with Yramantha, about the attack on Monoea perpetrated by someone under Brînian guise, and the request for him personally to attend diplomatic talks with the King. Before he could launch into the delicate topics of their fascination with his magic and his suspicions of rebellion, Elena cut him off.
“No, Draken, you cannot go. We’ll send someone else.”
“The timing is poor, I grant you. It seems to be a problem of late.”
Elena ran her hand over her belly. Draken wondered if the baby moved. “No. This isn’t just about poor timing, though it is suspect. They attacked us without provocation. We cannot let the Monoeans dictate further terms.”
“This is the kingdom of Monoea we’re talking about, not some Dragon Isle pirate. They are allies, we value their trade, and they—”
“Outnumber us ten-to-one.” She sighed. “I’ll remind you, we won the battle and the odds were more like two-to-one.”
Excellent. Now she doubted his word and he had no way to prove how he knew Monoean military numbers without betraying his past. “Elena. That wasn’t the bulk of their army—it didn’t begin to touch it. We lost valuable lords and soldiers. And you—” His throat felt dry. “If I had reached you a breath later things would have gone very badly.”
“And yet I held him off with the sword, aye?”
“Aye, my love. It was well done. But there are things you don’t know.”
“Such as?”
Good question. Which path could he take that wouldn’t lead to the whole truth?
“About Parne.” Fairly safe, if gruesome, ground. Maybe it would convince her the Monoeans were not to be considered lightly, even though he knew in his bones it wasn’t their doing. He told her about the massacre, some details of the dead. Silence. She stared at the remains of supper spread over the table.
He reached for her hand. “I know it’s difficult to take in—”
She shook him off. “Did you find any Monoeans? Their trail? Anything at all?”
He bristled under her accusatory tone. “No. We’ve had reports of roving bands and the wounds looked like they could’ve been done by their seaxes. Except …”
“Except?”
Damn. “None of the victims fought back.”
“How do you know?”
“They looked as if they fell dead where they stood. No wounds on arms or anywhere but clean stab wounds to the throat.” He paused, wondering if he should give voice to vague suspicion. He had no proof, no real evidence of Moonling involvement. But he couldn’t ignore how well their spears worked in the Abeyance when other weapons did not. And then there was Oklai’s gloating attitude.
Elena pushed up from the table, graceful despite the weight of his child growing within her, and carried her wine to the window. The night cast quiet shadows over her softened body. An altogether appealing sight. She seemed to mostly take the pregnancy in stride, and his role as a father and her highest lord. But should he tread on the hem of her gown as Queen, she stiffened like a sail at storm.
She didn’t reach out to him for help nor gesture that he should join her, s
o he clenched his jaw and didn’t move, just rested his fist on his knee. “If it was the Monoeans, I wonder if they had help. Magical help. Something that kept them from fighting back.”
She frowned. “What do you mean? Like a Gadye potion in the wells?”
He spoke slowly. Would that it were so simple. “Perhaps. The one witness left alive was on eventide. Aarinnaie pointed it out to me. Which makes him not much of a witness, of course. But he got me thinking.” He hadn’t, actually, but he didn’t want to argue.
“Eventide? That isn’t so potent. A whole village potioned into not fighting back? I don’t know of a brew that does that.”
She shook her head derisively. “Parne is a farming village, aye? It’s of no value.”
“No value except that they are our people, yours and mine.”
“You mistake my point.” Her voice was a whip, cutting through the last of his confidence. “I merely mean Parne was in the Monoeans’ path so they cut them down. Out of spite, or hatred, or whatever is driving these attacks. They wouldn’t loot Parne because there was nothing to take.”
He got to his feet. His voice was harder than he meant, but he was frustrated. Never mind they were talking about two different things. “The Monoeans attacked because they think we attacked first.”
“They acted without proof.”
“They thought they had proof. Elena! A whole town was destroyed by ships flying Brînian banners. Of course they thought they must retaliate. Just as you are angry over Parne and Seakeep, so are they over Quunin.”
She stared at him, lips and cheeks pale against the shadows surrounding her. “You are defending them.”
That chilled him. Was he? “No. But I understand them. If I’m to go as emissary—”
“You aren’t going anywhere.”
“I must start with a clear head and be cognizant of both sides. Otherwise Monoea will take us to war and they will win.”
“Paranoia does not become you, Your Highness. You are Prince of Brîn, a warlord, not some craven diplomat.” She spat the last as an insult.
“Was it paranoia, then, when I suspected Reavan of foul intentions?”
“How dare you?” A hot snarl of warning. One he should heed. But his blood was up.
“You didn’t believe me then and look how that turned out. Reavan murdered. Countless others dead. Truls dragging us into war with the bloody gods. He very nearly convinced you to execute me.”
“Perhaps I should have done!”
“Perhaps,” he growled, “if only to spare me from delusions that will get us all killed.”
Her cup flew from her fingers like a stone from a sling. Red wine splashed at his feet and spilled over the tile. He stepped aside easily, fists clenched. Her dark eyes were unfathomably feral, lips pulled back in a snarl. Peril squeezed every sense, narrowed his attention on her.
“Apologize at once.” Her voice shook with fury.
A small voice retorted to his anger that she was his Queen. He had sworn himself to her. He loved her. He squashed it. “I refuse to apologize for trying to make you see reason.”
He strode out, slamming the louvered door open. The szi nêre in the antechamber jumped to attention but wouldn’t meet his eyes. He wished for boots. Damn these Brînians and their customs. Bare feet didn’t make the same satisfying thud against the floor, even with two szi nêre stalking behind him.
Tyrolean ambushed him in the corridor. His tone was one of perfect courtesy as joined Draken in stride. “Your Highness, a scout from the border wardens is waiting to speak with you. I’ve a sense it’s urgent.”
“Gods, what now?”
Tyrolean only shook his head mildly. “He wishes to speak to you alone.”
Brînian and Akrasian aides hovered around separate tables set up near an interior door leading to the more private areas of the palace. Beyond, candles and lanterns flickered against the bright mosaics and murals on the curving walls of the Hall. Eyes lifted at Draken’s arrival. His face must have looked stormy because every conversation hushed into silence.
The scout waited among the aides, not taking the seat that had probably been offered. He paced instead, dusty from the road and still armored, but saluted Draken when he appeared. “My Lord Prince. I am Escort Loir Poregar.”
Poregar … he knew that name. But from where? More curious, why was an Escort serving in the border wardens?
“Speak freely, Poregar.” Draken reached for the cup a slave handed him and gave it to the scout, then nodded to the slave to pour another.
Poregar sipped and swept a glance over the others present. “Thank you. Perhaps more privacy, if it pleases Your Highness?”
Draken nodded and led him down a few steps off the hall to a room he’d claimed as his own, his father’s scroll chamber. It suited the purpose for private conversation well enough. The szi nêre took position outside the room, knowing he only let them into his library by invitation.
“Sit, Warden. Have a drink. You look exhausted. Have we met?” An indirect way to find out why Poregar was tramping borders rather than guarding one of the palaces or forts.
Poregar obeyed, though it wasn’t protocol for him to sit while Draken kept his feet. Draken couldn’t sit still, nor stand still, too agitated from his fight with Elena. Poregar’s clothes were damp with sweat and fog, and he shed horsehair onto the chair and floor as his legs shifted; all sure signs of a long, hard ride. “We have not, my Prince, though I was with your troops from Khein at the battle on Sohalia.”
Draken raised his brows. “You transferred to the border wardens?”
Poregar dipped his chin. “A short loan only, Your Highness. My brother is Commander of the Wardens.”
Ah, that’s where he’d heard the name. “I suppose you have some expertise to offer them?”
“Aye. There is a developing situation along the border.”
A situation. Draken stalked the room and eyed various things on shelves. They lined every wall to the ceiling, scrolls arranged in some order he’d yet to fathom, treasures tucked amid them: inscribed gifts of state, mementos from generations past, loose jewels of which he’d never seen the like, even seemingly worthless trinkets like shells. He’d left it all in place, half-believing that he might inherit some wisdom from the Princes and Kings who came before him. He wondered if any of them had to deal with stubborn Queens.
Poregar made a slight noise and Draken realized he was waiting for Draken’s attention. “Apologies. It’s been rather a long day. Which border?”
“The old border between Brîn and Akrasia.” Poregar took a moment to continue, gulping down more wine. “Attacks, Your Highness. Whoever does it comes in and kills all the animals.”
That got his attention. “All the animals … you mean, like on family farms?”
Poregar swallowed and blinked up at Draken, then rose with an apologetic dip of his chin. His fingers were white around his cup. “I mean whether it’s an old man on a farm with one goat or a livetrader’s fowlpens or a horse breeder, every animal dies. Only four so far but they’re moving upland along the border, from the Brînian coast. At this rate they will cross into the grasslands within a sevennight or two.”
Poregar stopped. Breathed noisily. Gulped a little wine.
Draken replaced a loose, uncut jewel on the shelf and turned to face him fully. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Sometimes it happens in daylight. One farmer went in for a midday meal, and by the time he came out the animals bled out in the paddock. The worst lost nearly four hundred goats and the latest crop of newborns as well.”
That would take some doing. Draken released a slow breath. “Let me guess. Dead of stab wounds to the throat.”
Poregar blinked. “Every last one, Your Highness. Have you had a prior report? If you don’t mind my saying, we’ve been trying to keep this quiet. Can’t have Brînians blaming Akrasians and so on. Being on the old border, as it were.”
“Just an unlucky guess. Were the farms Brînian or A
krasian?”
“Aye, both. And a small Gadye plot that grows the pipeweed so popular in Reschan.”
And with a certain Mance King. “Do you know the Monoeans attacked Seakeep?”
Poregar gave an uncertain nod. “I’d heard.”
“Do the attacks on the animals predate that?”
Poregar considered, lips pursed. “Started the day after, I reckon.”
Draken was impressed. “How did you get here so fast?”
“I was running my regular patrol, which my brother knows, when he sent for me. My route leaves me half a day from the border. So I got there fair quick, Your Highness. A day after the first two attacks. Then I rode hard for the Citadel.”
Draken nodded. “What you might not have heard is there was an attack on an inland village two days ago. The villagers were all killed … all but one. All died of stab wounds to the throat.”
“The one who didn’t die … a witness?”
He shook his head. “No. Burnt on eventide. But …” He had no idea why he was about to admit his suspicions to this stranger, except that Poregar seemed competent and the coincidence grated. “I’m not convinced it’s Monoeans that did it, especially after what you just told me.”
Poregar grunted and shook his head. “It can’t be the same as on the border. No possibility of their traveling so far and quickly. Which means there must be more than one band of attackers roving about.”
“Four hundred goats? A small army, more like,” Draken said. “If it’s Monoeans, they must have put in at the Zozian Coast.”
“All respect, Your Highness, it’s all rocky shallows along Zozia. No one can navigate it; even the fishers don’t. And Agrian is all cliffs on that side, besides that they’d have to cross the mountains. They’d put in at Khein, have to.”
“Which wasn’t guarded when I …” Draken silently cursed his near-slip. Few people knew he’d ever been at Khein, much less dumped into the water by Yramantha to start his exile. “Well. Last I heard.”
Poregar’s back stiffened. “No longer, Prince. There’s been some trouble with piracy down from the Hoarfrost so we keep regular patrols running through there. If they came ashore at Khein they would know. You’d have had a runner by now.”
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